


Trip and Fall

by estrella30



Category: Smallville RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 19:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30





	Trip and Fall

This is for [](http://thisisbone.livejournal.com/profile)[**thisisbone**](http://thisisbone.livejournal.com/) because I love her ♥

Huge thanks to [](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**brooklinegirl**](http://brooklinegirl.livejournal.com/) for the beta, which kicked ass muchly, as usual, to [](http://coolwhipdiva.livejournal.com/profile)[**coolwhipdiva**](http://coolwhipdiva.livejournal.com/) for the story of Tommy in the backseat of the Impala (!!!), and to [](http://daughtershade.livejournal.com/profile)[**daughtershade**](http://daughtershade.livejournal.com/) for whom the "how pissed is Mikey about THAT!" line is credited to *g*

Also, I need to get out there how much this HURT my little otp heart to write, and while I loves my Jensen and Tommy SO MUCH, it is jensen and jared and mike and tommy, the end ♥

But, you know, YAY PORN!

 

 **Title** \- Trip and Fall  
 **Pairing** \- JA/TW  
 **Size** \- 3600 words  
 **Rating** \- porn

 

 

_**Trip and Fall** _

 

 

Jensen grabbed an apple from the buffet table and bit into the skin. It was half-sour and tasted like shit so he found the pail under the table and tossed it in the trash. “Fucking, gross,” he muttered, looking slowly to the left, then the right. He checked one last time, made sure no one was watching, then spit out what he had in his mouth into the garbage.

“Oh, that’s _nice,_ ” came a voice from behind him. Jen rolled his eyes and turned around to find Tommy walking up, shaking his head. “Classy fucking guy.”

“That’s what they tell me, Welling,” Jen said, letting his lips curve in a slow smile.

“Who tells you that?” Tom asked, his face a picture of innocent confusion. “All your fans?”

Man. Tommy could be a _prick._

“Yeah, well,” Jen poked at a few more things on the table. A bunch of bananas. Some weird kiwi looking thing. Disgusting. “At least it’s not _my_ set I’m fucking up, right?”

“Used to be your set,” Tommy said. There was a teasing glint in his eye, one Jen was used to seeing, so he cleared his throat and got ready. This could be fun. Sometimes him and Tommy could go back and forth for hours.

“Yeah. Well. It _was._ ” Jen smirked. “Until I traded it up for bigger and better, of course.”

Tommy laughed sharply and ran a hand through his hair. He was still dressed in Clark’s clothes – blue t-shirt, horrible red jacket – but his smile was hard and a little sarcastic. His smile was totally fucking with Jen.

His smile was all Tommy.

“Bigger and better my ass,” he came back with. Jensen shrugged and moved out of the way as Tom reached for something to eat.

“You should have an apple.” Jen nodded toward the table. “They’re awesome.”

Tommy flipped him the bird and grabbed a bunch of grapes. He popped one in his mouth and his face twisted. “Fuck. These are horrible.”

“Nothing but the best over here in Smallville, huh? I can _totally_ see that” Jen singsonged. “You know, over by me we got, like, muffins and shit.”

Tom leaned against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what are you doing here then if things are so great by you?” He blew the hair from his eyes and grabbed a bottle of water.

“Slumming,” Jen deadpanned, then cleared his throat. “And as much fun as this has been” he said, waving his hand between them “I’m actually meeting Kristin for lunch.” Jen checked his watch. It was nearly noon and they were supposed to have met close to fifteen minutes ago. If she’d have been on damn time he would have missed seeing Welling all together. How sad.

“You and Kristin?” Tom asked, his eyebrows raising to just under his hairline. “Yeah?”

“Not like that, jackass.” Jen shook his head. “We’re friends. The end. We’d talked about going to lunch or something and when I realized I had a day off today I called her and she was off too—“

“And then they called her to do a scene at the farm so she’s about an hour outside of Vancouver right now and completely not meeting you for lunch,” Tommy finished. “In case you didn’t know. Good job, ace.”

Jensen blinked. “What?”

“Kristin got called to do a scene at the farm today,” Tommy repeated. “She didn’t call you?”

“Fuck. No, she didn’t.” Jen pulled his cell from his pocket because, shit. It wasn’t every day he got some time off. Hell, it was _no_ day that he got some time off, and while yeah, Kristin was cool and fun and he missed hanging out with her sometimes, wasting a day jerking off on the Smallville set wasn’t high on his list of things to do this Tuesday. “I don’t get why she…” Jensen pressed the button to check for a message. Then he pressed it again. And again.

Nothing. Not a beep, not a light.

Tommy leaned over and stared at the dead cell phone in Jen’s hand. He rubbed a hand over his chin and said “Huh. On this show we got phones that work. Weird.”

Jen elbowed him in the ribs. “Fuck you.” He shoved the phone in his pocket and blew out a breath. Fine. So he had an afternoon off and nothing to do. Lord knew he could probably just head home and get some sleep. That would be a novelty.

“So where are you headed now?” Tommy asked. He yanked his jacket off and tossed it on the end of the table. “You gonna head back out and grab Jared or something?”

Jen shook his head. “He’s filming today and then out with Sandy for dinner.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and jiggled his car keys. He didn’t have to be on set till tomorrow at noon. That was almost a full twenty-four hours and Jensen honestly had no fucking clue what to do with himself. “I’ll probably just head home and—“

“Gimme ten minutes to change and we’ll go grab some food,” Tommy said. He reached out to clap Jen on the shoulder.

“You don’t have anything left today?”

Tommy shook his head. He grabbed the jacket and started off toward the trailers. “Nope. And hey, Jensen?”

Jen had no idea why Tommy had turned around and was smirking at him like that. “What?”

“Nothing, just…” Tommy blew the hair off his forehead. “You might want to avoid Mike, is all.”

“Mike?” Jensen blinked. Sometimes talking to Tommy made him feel like he was drunk. Like he was missing half the conversation or they were talking in code. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s pissed at you because _he_ wanted to ride in the Impala, so.” Tommy’s face split in a wide grin and Jensen had to laugh.

He waited about three seconds playing it cool, then bolted from the set as quick as he could. There was no way in hell he wanted to deal with Mikey’s whining today. No way in _hell._

*

They went to a place for lunch that they used to go to all the time when Jen was still on Smallville. Tiny little sports bar, mostly out of the way, with a separate side door and a corner booth that you couldn’t see from the main dining area of the restaurant. Not that Jensen had all that hard of a time going out in public (at least, not until recently) but when you were with Tommy or Mike sometimes things went a little haywire.

The waitress remembered them both and they ordered a pitcher of the dark beer that Jen liked and two shots with their food. “Actually, why don’t you get us a bottle of Cuervo and two glasses instead,” Tommy told the waitress. Jensen raised an eyebrow.

“Lunch, Tommy, remember?”

“Day off, Ackles,” Tommy countered with. “And I don’t remember the last time we had one of those. Not really.”

Jensen had to give him that one. And fuck it, did Welling really think he could drink more than he could?

“Man, I’m just saying I’m concerned about you, is all.” Jen _tsk_ ed softly. He kicked his feet out under the table and stretched back in his chair. He could hear a few of the bones in his spine pop and crack – shit, he needed a massage or something – and crossed his arms over his chest. “Cause there ain’t no way in _hell_ you’re outdrinking me today.”

Tommy’s lips parted, just a little bit, and he looked right about ready to say something when the waitress returned, her tray full of beer and booze, glasses and chips and wings. Jensen smiled up at her as she dropped off their stuff, smiling brightly at them before walking away. Blonde and pretty, with a nice ass in those jeans and…

“Dog,” Jensen heard Tommy mutter. “You’re checking that poor girl out like you’re some sort of dog.”

Jensen flipped the shot glasses over and pushed the bottle of tequila across the table. Tommy grinned again and Jensen was struck with how good of an actor Tom must really be, because this guy? The one right here? The one in the black t-shirt with the wicked smile and cool, green eyes? This sure as fuck wasn’t Clark Kent.

“You’re just jealous cause I ain’t an ugly son of a bitch like you,” Jen said, the smirk clear in his voice. “Now pour.”

Tommy screwed off the cap and tossed it down. It rolled across the table until Jensen slapped it down with the palm of his hand. The shot glasses were filled and Jen lifted his in the air and touched it to Tommy’s, liquor spilling over the side and down his fingers.

“Cheers,” Tommy said. He knocked the shot back and Jensen followed suit. The tequila was slick and smooth and hit his stomach like a roll of fire. Christ, he needed to _eat_ something.

But Tommy, man. Tommy was giving him a _look._ It was a _So, you think you can handle it?_ look. It was a _I think I got the better of you, bitch_ look, and Jensen wasn’t standing for that shit at all.

“Can you handle another, Jen?” Tommy asked, trying to sound innocent. He gave Jensen wide eyes and added “Or, you know, are you done already.”

“Blow me,” Jensen answered. He sat up straight in his chair and leaned over the table. His elbow knocked into the plate of wings and a nacho chip toppled from the platter onto the tabletop. He poured two beers, shoved his empty shot glass at Tom and waited. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”

Tommy just picked the bottle up and smiled.

*

A few hours later found them both drunk and stumbling out of the cab and up Jensen’s walkway. Tommy tripped to the side, his huge boot crushing about six of the bright red begonia plants lining Jensen’s walkway and Jensen had to reach out and grab Tommy’s arm to keep him from falling face first onto his lawn.

“Watch where you’re going,” Jen told him, trying to sound serious and not quite as bombed as he felt. Shit. Going out for lunch with Kristin never wound up quite like _this._

“Fuck all these tiny little plants anyway,” Tom said, his voice pitched high and a weird giggle coming out after it. He stopped walking for a minute, steadied himself, then walked over and purposely stepped on another two of Jensen’s plants.

Jen pointed a finger at him. “You’re paying for new ones of those, fucker.” He managed to get the storm door open and then – his key wasn’t – he almost had it in the lock and—

“Gimme that.” Tommy reached over Jen’s shoulder and tried to grab the keys himself.

Jen knocked his shoulder back into Tom’s chest. “Fuck off,” he mumbled, finally getting the key in the hole and the knob turned and the door pushed and _yes!_ The door! It was _opened!_

They fell into the doorway, boots clomping and keys hitting the floor. Jensen pulled his jacket off and put it – well – he left it somewhere, it was fine. He needed something to drink, soda or water or something and the kitchen was only five or six – maybe, _ten_ steps away. Fifteen tops.

The refrigerator hummed and Jen yanked open the door, peering inside and finding bottled water, a bag with six oranges, and half a loaf of green bread. He could feel Tom warm against his back, he was standing so close, and when he said “Good thing we ate at the bar, huh?” his voice was low and close, right next to Jen’s ear.

Jen grabbed two bottles of water and slammed the door shut. One he handed to Tom and the other he twisted the cap off of and took a long swallow, closing his eyes against the slow spin of the room.

“Jesus,” Jen said quietly. He leaned back against the counter and laid the bottle against his forehead. His heart was racing. His palms were clammy. “How the fuck much did we _drink?_ ”

Tommy leaned against the counter next to him, his left side pressed all against Jen’s right. They were just about the same height, but Tommy was broader, wider. Jensen puffed up his chest for no reason, then felt like a dork and exhaled on a rush. It was _Tommy_ for chrissakes. What the fuck was he doing?

“We drank…” Tommy trailed off, and then he laughed again. That really high-pitched drunken giggle. “A _lot._ We drank a _lot,_ Jen,” he finally finished, and Jensen, for whatever reason, never heard anything so funny.

He tipped his head back and laughed, long and loud. “We really, really did, Tom,” and whoa. Jensen barely recognized his own voice. His words were all slurring together and he felt more at ease, more relaxed than he had in a long time.

“Well, yee fucking haw,” Tommy joked. “Man, you really are from Texas, ain’t ya.” He was trying to slow his voice down too, maybe even drawl a little, but Tommy was no Mike when it came to impressions and all it sounded like was a drunk Tom Welling. Which he actually _was,_ and man, Jensen really needed to stop _thinking_ right about now.

He finished off his bottle of water and twisted to toss it in the sink. His shoulder brushed against Tom’s chest but Tom didn’t move so Jen couldn’t quite get around him. “Dude, get the fuck out of—“

The bottle slipped from Jen’s fingers and bounced across the floor as Tom yanked his other shoulder forward and kissed him.

It took Jensen a minute to really figure out what was going on. Things moved in his brain a little slower after a few pitchers of beer and half a bottle of tequila, but by the time he got from _I walked into the kitchen to get a drink_ to _Holy fucking hell, I’m making out with Tom_ he yanked his head back and shoved hard at Tommy’s chest.

“Dude.” Jen kept his voice level and serious. “What the fuck.”

Tommy licked his lips and dropped his eyes to stare at Jen’s mouth. “I don’t know, I just—“

“Quit looking at me like that,” Jen snapped, and Tommy jerked his head up. His cheeks were flushed pink though Jen couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or what.

“Jen, I’m sorry, I just…” Tommy trailed off. He took a step back and Jensen felt like he could breathe again, like something tight loosened in his chest. “I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair and laughed quietly. Jensen had to force himself to look away, to stop staring. To stop looking at Tommy’s fucking _mouth._

Which was a really nice mouth, now that Jensen was looking at it. Not that he was _looking,_ but.

Jensen looked up and Tommy turned his head toward him so Jen looked away. He waited a minute, then looked back quick to find Tommy watching him again then _he_ looked away.

“Okay. This is fucking stupid,” Tommy said and pushed off the counter. “Now we’re acting like fucking girls and I’m just gonna call a cab or—“

And suddenly Tommy kissing him maybe wasn’t such a bad fucking idea. Maybe Tom _leaving_ was the bad idea. Maybe Jensen just – you know – didn’t really think this through.

Because some sort of sex? Right about now? Might be a hell of a fucking _good_ idea.

At least, that was the thought process that lead to Jensen grabbing Tommy’s arm, yanking him back, and kissing him hard on the mouth.

Tommy froze for a split second, just froze, and Jensen thought _Oh, Jesus Christ, enough with this already_ as he dug his thumb into Tommy’s jaw, pressing his mouth open and kissing him, hot and hungry.

Everything seemed to spin a little then, and it was partly the booze, sure, but it was also because Tommy’s hands were on his shoulders now, spinning him around and pushing him back against the counter.

“You sure?” Tommy panted. Jensen felt the burn of stubble against his chin.

Wet, wet kisses, Tom’s mouth against his skin. Lips against his mouth and throat and the curve of his shoulder and the fuck of it all was Jen _was_ sure. He wasn’t thinking all too many things now, which was kinda nice, but this much he knew.

He threaded his fingers in the back of Tommy’s hair and tugged until Tommy was looking at him, all green eyes and flushed skin. “I’m sure,” Jen told him, and pushed Tommy to his knees.

Tommy breathed out through his nose, the air ticking Jensen’s belly when Tom yanked the shirt from his jeans. Big thick fingers popped the button, tugged on his zipper then shoved them down Jen’s hips. Tommy’s lips brushed across the head of Jen’s cock and—

“Holy shit,” Jen hissed. He slammed his fist back against the cabinets, hearing the door bang and creak on its hinges. “Tommy, _fuck._ ”

“Jen, can I?” Tommy asked, warm breath across him and Jensen pushed forward, wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the base of his dick and guided it over Tom’s lips and into his mouth.

And god – hot and wet and _fuck._ Tommy dug his fingers into Jen’s hips, pulling him forward, sucking harder, deeper. Jen felt his eyes close and the room spun once more then stopped.

“Fuck, yeah,” Jen answered on a low, broken breath. He kept the one hand on his cock, shoving forward slow, listening to the muffled, desperate sounds Tom was making and concentrating on the feel of his mouth. His teeth and tongue and the _hot_ and _wet_ and _yes_ and _now._

Tommy’s hair was silky and fine. Jensen unclenched his fingers and slid them into Tom’s hair, twisting and pulling, yanking him forward, loving the sounds Tom made – Tommy fucking wanted this, was into this - as Jensen shoved his hips, harder and faster, fucking his mouth and feeling his hands on Jen’s skin. His breath came short and fast, across Jen’s belly and—

“Fuck, Tommy, I’m gonna—“ Tommy pulled back and covered Jen’s fingers with his, jerking him hard and fast. He bit the side of Jen’s hip, then licked the mark his teeth made, and Jensen yanked his hair one more time as his orgasm ripped through him.

He hauled Tom to his feet, kissing him hard, kissing him until he chased the taste of himself out of Tommy’s mouth. Tom stumbled once, then set himself straight and blinked hazy eyes at him. “Jesus,” he whispered, shuddering as Jen shoved a hand down the front of Tommy’s jeans.

“Yeah, come on,” Jensen panted against Tom’s neck until he was digging his fingers into Jensen’s forearms and making a sound like he was dying.

“Come on, Tommy,” Jen said again. His heart was still racing, he thought he maybe fucked all the booze and drunk out of his system – got rid of everything except this, here, now. He wanted Tommy shaking and coming in his hand. He wouldn’t stop until—

“Jensen, _God._ ” Tommy let his head fall back, his whole body shook as he came. Jensen slowed his hand down and wiped his fingers on the inside of Tommy’s boxers, patting his side as he pulled away and grinned.

“Wow,” Jensen said with a smile. “You’re _way_ more fun to go to lunch with than Kristin is, I gotta tell you.”

Tommy laughed quietly. “Yeah, well. I’ve been hearing that a lot since the divorce.”

Jensen grabbed a few napkins from the counter and cleaned himself off then handed them to Tom who just looked at them and shrugged. “Unless you’ve got a new pair of jeans for me, too, I don’t really know how much good that’s gonna do.”

Jensen half-laughed and reached around to scratch the back of his neck because, well, _this_ was a little awkward, huh? He just – he wasn’t really sure what to say now and—

“Dude, how about you get me a pair of sweats and let me pass out on your couch,” Tommy told him. Jensen looked up. Tom’s eyes were clear and green and he added “And stop, you know, being such a little bitch about this.”

Jensen kicked his shin. “Fuck you.”

“Nah, I think I’m good for the night,” Tommy answered lightly. “Just, you know, sweat pants?”

Jensen shook his head and left the kitchen. “Man, for someone that calls _me_ a bitch…” he muttered, ducking when a wadded of ball of napkins came flying at his head.

*

The next morning Jensen woke up with a slamming headache and a mouth that felt like it was covered in fur. He stumbled to the bathroom, took a piss, washed his face, and still didn’t feel even close to human when he made it out to the living room.

His pair of blue sweatpants was neatly folded on the edge of couch with a note on top, scrawled with a thick black marker across a ripped out page of the TV Guide.

_You know, you’re one hell of an easy lay._

Jensen rubbed a hand over his face, crumpled the note in a ball, and laughed so hard he woke the neighbors.

 

-end-


End file.
